The Glass Passenger
by When You See My Friends
Summary: To a greaser, a rep is everything. But unfortunately for him, nothing could be deeper and darker than the shadow his brother casts over him.
1. Chapter 1

**The Glass Passenger**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: To a greaser, a rep is everything. But unfortunately for him, nothing could be deeper and darker than the shadow his brother casts over him.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. The rights to the Outsiders goes to S. E. Hinton. <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter I<strong>

* * *

><p><em>I wake up. An arm over my bare chest. The door opened while shattering the bleak opaqueness of the room. Drowsily, I lifted my head and squint my eyes as I face him.<em>

_His face is to far for me to notice the shock and horror at first. "Sarah!"_

_Immediately as he says this, another body motions away from the side of my body, and stands up to him. "Brad, it's not what you think."_

_After that, everything gets blurry. I feel my head start spinning. The man starts shouting and swearing at me and the girl shouts back at him, trying to shield me from his fury. She occasionally look back at me sympathetically, but I couldn't make out any of the words they were saying._

_The next thing I know, I find myself outside his house, in my boxers. It must have been really late or really early: nobody was out tonight. I already knew that going in, back there was going to be an effort wasted so I trudged on back home, still half-asleep._

_As soon as I got there, I jumped over our wooden fence and opened my window..._

* * *

><p>"Dean...Dean..."<p>

I let out an aggravated, half-asleep mumble as I turned over in my bed.

Moments later, my face was met with a short but merciless deluge of cold water.

"What the hell!" I shout out, enraged. It certainly didn't help that the culprit simply stood there, leaning against the wall, smoking his cheap cigarette, a bucket to the ground, and minding his own business as if he didn't do shit.

His face shows no remorse or interest until he finally takes notice that I was glaring at him for at least half a century. His eyes light up before fading back. "Oh, Dean," my brother started. "It's Monday, get ready for school, _buddy_."

I hated how he said that word. _Buddy_. It just sounded wrong coming from him. He goes on, more indifferently this time. "C'mon Dean, get yer ass outta bed already."

He soon leaves. I do as commanded, but not without shivering. I look back to see that my bed is literally soaked with water. I have no idea how he, or I, am going to get that thing dry. With my head still reeling, I couldn't care less at this point.

I leave for the bathroom after getting a towel. I then shower and put on some jean shorts and a plaid shirt. While eating breakfast and putting on my shoes, I hear him on the phone in his room. He's probably chattin' with his girlfriend, again. Or with a buddy of his and his latest drag race or something.

No sign of Dad, which is more or less a good thing for the both of us.

We soon leave for school, earlier than we usually do.

Now usually, our drives to school were both mutually silent. I liked it that way; he liked it that; it worked out for the both of us. But this time, I certainly wasn't having it.

"Man, why the hell did ya have to go an' dump a bucket of water on my face!" I demanded.

He grimly shrugs, never once lookin' in my direction. I know we weren't the best brothers around, but he didn't usually ignore me this much, at least, when we weren't in the car. He'd much rather pester me about shit than leave me alone. My brother had a bit of short fuse, most of the time.

Maybe he had a lot on his mind, I know I do. I still can't remember what happened the last few nights.

He takes a good pause before answering my question. "Dad asked me to wake you and you wouldn't. But he didn't tell me how I could wake you up." He sneers at me.

"Well thanks a lot. Ya know I could've used a bit of extra sleep."

"Really? I thought you got plenty of _sleep_, last night." I did not like the sound of his tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I feel myself get a bit red.

"You know exactly what I mean, Dean."

"But how did you already...?"

"What can I say? Word gets around fast, kid." I couldn't really argue with that.

He then proudly shakes his head. "And with that Sarah chick? Damn Dean, I didn't know you had it in ya." He swore again, proudfully.

I guess I didn't either. I don't know what I should be more surprised about, that he's actually proud of me, or that I just did what I did to Sarah. I guess to any other greaser in the neighborhood, the latter wouldn't be such a big deal, but to me, it was. The fact that it's a big deal to him is shocking enough.

My face was flushed at this point. "Fine, whatever. Just...lay off, will ya?"

He smirks again as I opened the passenger door of his car. "Alright, kid. Deal."

I look back at him with a suspicious look. But in the end, I foolishly believed his word. But that's brother for ya, right? Always so trusting and reliable.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**So, if you see that I need to work on anything, please tell me. I'm all for suggestions. With that being said, who do you think Dean is a brother of? Obviously not a Curtis, I'll tell you that much.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Glass Passenger**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: To a greaser, a rep is everything. But unfortunately for him, nothing could be deeper and darker than the shadow his brother casts over him.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. The rights to the Outsiders goes to S. E. Hinton.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter II<strong>

* * *

><p>School goes by awful quickly that day. It was one of those days that seemed to lug on forever, at least until you space out and then you end up in the last five minutes of the school day.<p>

My last class was English. My teacher was real young and real laid back unlike most teachers. He says he'll treat us more like the way the college professors teach their students: "If you didn't do your work, then that's just it - too bad for you because I really couldn't care less if you fail."

I wondered why they treated the college students with more leniency than they do with us. Maybe it's because they're older, or something. I know Dad's always buggin' Steve about him going to college, even though we could barely afford it.

But Steve isn't like the rest of the family. Steve's handsome and good-lookin', much smarter than Mom said Dad was when he was in High School. He's even got himself a good job and has a rep known throughout the whole school.

Dad says that Steve probably comes from Mom's side of the family. When Mom was younger, she was very popular and was smart too. Dad was neither of those things.

How they got together? I have no idea. Thinking about it reminded me of how Mom always treated us like the college professors treat their students as Dad always treated us as secondary school teachers treated their students.

She's gone now, though. Maybe it's for the best, I wouldn't know. Mom and Dad don't tell me things like they tell Steve even though we barely separated by a year and a half.

* * *

><p>One thing I do remember is that a lot more people seemed to notice me and said hi - even people I don't know.<p>

Once I bumped into this guy. He was about twice my size and had at least a gallon or two of grease in his hair. He looks at me, almost pissed off as something, but he instead asks me "Hey, ain't you Randle's brother?"

I nod at him.

"Oh." He seemed surprised, pleasantly surprised that is. He grins at me. "Give your brother a message for me, will ya? Tell em 'he's a real ass', okay?"

"Tell me something I don't know."

He laughs. "You're an alright kid, ya know that?"

"Thanks," I say dryly. I wait until he leaves before I mumble the words "Thanks for not asking me what my name was."

* * *

><p>By the end of the day, I was much more concerned with the preceding nights more so than this school day. It's almost painful to try and strain my brain to recollect my thoughts.<p>

I think I may have spaced out through half of last block. I was never smart kid as it is, so missing a class or two probably wouldn't mean a damn thing.

I decide not to take the bus home and walk home. I usually take the bus home, but there really isn't anyone there that I know so well.

"And there he is!" an cheery Alex exclaims as he approaches me with his well-polished car.

"Hey, what's up?" I say to him, a bit remotely.

I look up to see him smirking crazily at me. "What?" I ask.

He proudly shakes his head in an all too familiar way. "I can't believe the day has come."

Before I respond, he makes a gesture jerking the side of his head twice. I didn't quite get what he meant. "Well c'mon Dean, get yer lazy ass in here."

Once I get in, I give him a look. "So what are you talkin' 'bout?"

"You know exactly what I mean," he replies, not looking back at me.

With that being said, he confirmed my fears. "Oh, you ain't serious, are you?"

"Sorry to disappoint man, but I'm dead serious. You know what they're saying, Dean?"

"Do I want to know?"

"Hell yeah. They're saying how you beat the shit out of Brad and how you stole his girlfriend..." Alex kept on going, intensely excited. Alex was my best friend, but he was nothing like me. He was taller than me by a just less than a head, he was more muscular, had a distinct jaw line, and dark eyes. He, and a couple of other jocks at school have led me to believe that a dangerous grin, good looks, and spot in the football team was all you need make every other girl in the school's heart flutter. But even I know that that isn't the way things work - no matter how much it seems so.

"...and it's fuckin' rad, man." He finally stopped, I was only half listening to him. One thing about Alex though, he wasn't the sharpest tack in the box even though he did get pretty good grades.

"Great, just great." I sighed.

"Hey, what's up, man? You okay?" he asks, seeming to notice my current disposition.

"No, I'm not. I can barely remember a damn thing, I don't what's going on here." I try hard to hide the whine and pitiful-ness in my voice.

"Damn, really? What good is fuckin' some girl if you don't remember it?"

"Alex, really?" I ask, feeling a bit red. We were maybe two blocks from my house.

"Hey, I just sayin', that's all," he insists, trying to hold a more neutral position. But I knew him better than that. I think he really might be happy for me like my brother was, but knows he'll just have a much better time teasing me about it.

"You'll get through it, I'm sure." he added, trying to comfort me - I think. "Dean, it ain't so bad, man."

"And how's that?"

"Well, at least people will 'round school will know you're name other than being the kid brother of Steve Randle."

As much as I didn't want to admit it, he did have a point. Most of the people who approached me earlier today probably knew my brother, one way or another. "Thanks, Alex."

He then pulls his car up near my house. We say your goodbyes, but not without Alex looking around the neighborhood uneasily for a second or two.

I stalk off, not towards my house but to else where. I just realized that I had some unfinished business to take care of.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Glass Passenger**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: To a greaser, a rep is everything. But unfortunately for him, nothing could be deeper and darker than the shadow his brother casts over him.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. The rights to the Outsiders goes to S. E. Hinton.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter III<strong>

* * *

><p>I stray off my neighborhood and head towards <em>her<em> house. It's a few blocks away from mine. You'd think that a fifteen minute walk wouldn't make such a difference in terms of neighborhood quality but it really does show. Me and Steve used to live deeper in the south side of town but then Mom and Dad were doing financially well. Then when I was about ten or eleven, we moved closer into a bigger house, closer to the other side of town. Now don't get me wrong, our house wasn't like the middle class kids' houses, but it was definitely a step above our old one.

I remember that before we moved, me and Steve were pretty close. I remember I accidentally knocked some neighborhood greaser's motorcycle down and he looked at me real steamed pretty much hauled me up and threw me and roughed me up pretty badly. But then Steve came along. The guy was maybe seven years older than Steve, but Steve didn't care, he was so pissed off. It ended up with Steve getting a black eye - which to him was more a badge of honor than anything else - and the other greaser got himself a broken nose and a source spot in his area. Considering the circumstances and that he got it from some twelve-year old kid down the street, the same couldn't be said true for him.

My leg was smarting something awful so Steve practically carried me back home. Dad was real worried when he saw the both of us, I asked what happened and I just couldn't give him an answer. Steve, however, he didn't bat an eye and just said that we were both real sore from playing a rough game of football with some kids 'round the neighborhood. He said that someone threw a football at him when he wasn't paying attention and it hit him directly in the eye. He also told Dad that his friends' brother, Darrel tackled me pretty badly which is why my leg was hurting so bad.

I guess you could say that me and Steve were pretty close at the time. Our neighborhood wasn't too bad but it was still miles away from being the safest place around. Our family was poor back then but we managed well enough.

But soon after I turned eleven years old, we moved. Mom and Dad hated the idea of living in our dirty neighborhood forever. But we (mostly Steve, obviously) knew a lot of kids around the block and hated the idea. He made a big fuss about it when actually did move. But again, we managed.

Steve started becoming a bit more distant as we grew, though. He was still hanging out with some of his old friends (which is fine and all) but they were blocks away so he would drive places with them. As for me, I made friends with some of the kids around us. That's how I met Sarah, Alex, and Christina - Sarah and Christina were greasy while Alex was middle class.

We were still a family; things were great, I guess. But something happened with Mom and Dad, I never figured it out, but Steve did. I guess that's when Steve was never the same.

I don't mean he completely changed just like that, he was still a bit of a jerk like he always was. Just different. It was more gradual than anything else.

I remember two summers ago, when I was asleep, Steve beat me down and tied me to one of the trees in the backyard and left me there. I think he had a good reason for it, though I can't say I remember what it was. Either way, I slept through most of it so it wasn't _so_ bad.

But it wasn't to say that I was exactly happy to have Sarah and Christina find me alone in the backyard, tied-up and blind-folded, and in my underwear. I thanked God Sarah was there _with_ Christina. It makes me wonder what would've happened if it were any other girl (or person) who found me in that situation (or if it was just Christina alone). It wasn't like the possibility wasn't there: Steve incidentally left the front door open he left so in some sense, Christina and Sarah _didn't_ break into our house.

* * *

><p>I knock at the door and await a response. Most greasers keep the doors locked in case someone tries to rob them.<p>

The door opens to reveal a man in his twenties, in a stained tank top and jeans. He had pale green eyes, unkempt hair, a scruffy beard and a cigarette hanging at the edge of his mouth. His expression was cold, but not unfamiliar.

"What?" he says, notching his eye brows.

"Are you Sarah's brother?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm looking for her, is she here?"

"Oh." He scratched his head, half-way in between being uneasy and actually caring. He looks back inside the house. "Sarah," he calls out.

In the living room, I could see a tall girl wearing a blouse with some tight jeans - they were the kind that guys would wear. It reminded me of the time my cousin, Lucille or just Lucy, came to visit us last summer. I remember my aunt to got real mad at Mom for buying her Levis. Aunt insisted that only grade A sluts were to wear that shit.

"She ain't here, 'member?"

He turns back to me. "Uh yeah, she left somewhere."

(No kidding.) "Do you happen to know where she went?"

He shakes his head. "Nup, can't say I do, kid."

I then turn around but before I left, he put a hand on my shoulder. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Probably not. You might know my brother, Steve."

"You're Steve's brother?"

I nod.

"He's a cool guy."

I stagger a little bit and held a faltering smile as I faced him and then left. "Isn't he?"


	4. Chapter 4

**The Glass Passenger**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: To a greaser, a rep is everything. But unfortunately for him, nothing could be deeper and darker than the shadow his brother casts over him.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. The rights to the Outsiders goes to S. E. Hinton. <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter IV<strong>

* * *

><p>By the time sun set, I had given up looking for her by now. I don't know what happened but I bet she does. She wasn't at home, or her friends' houses, or anywhere I thought to look.<p>

Maybe she's avoiding me. If she is then okay, but I'd like to at least know what I did to deserve it. My stomach gets sore just thinking of what happened.

Okay, first I go to a party with Sarah. Then me and Brad had some kind of fight for whatever reason. Then I wake up to find me and Sarah in the same, and then I end up home.

It wasn't making much sense to me. Maybe I got drunk at the time, it would explain the headaches I got since then. Or Brad just me in the head hard enough.

* * *

><p>I went into some house party hosted by some greaser around. These kinds of things were more a place to hang out than a party itself. Most of them weren't all too interesting. Yes there were the lights, the music, the booze, the hoes (I mean gals), and all of that, but they weren't always so crazy.<p>

Though there were some exceptions. Sometimes a party gets so crowded and so drunk that people are jumping out of windows, screaming at the top of their lungs, lighting things on fire, and disturbing the peace.

But since most of us are poor and can't afford to waste too much money on these kinds of things, most parties remained at a fairly uneventful. Of course, shit happens during a lot of these kinds of things, but when doesn't it? I have a feeling greasy teen pregnancies could be avoided by never going to these things, but what do I know or care, for that matter.

I step inside the house. It's a fairly isolated event, it sure didn't have much more than fifteen people here. I walked around, uneasily shifting through the unfamiliar crowd.

I stole a glance out the window, wondering if I should be home. But let's be honest here, no one's gonna miss me.

Through the dimly lit halls, I enter the living room. I smile when I see Christina there sipping on some beer, but she seemed distressed, staring at the far side of the party, probably at some boy.

As I was just gonna say hi to her, she sees me. Her face gets red and her eyes pop up. She then gets up, purses her lips, places her hands on her hips, and sticks her ass out. "Why the hell are you here?"

I stepped back, startled and then crossed my eye brows. She looks at me exasperated and disgusted. "How are you gonna go ahead an' pretend like what you did two days ago never happened, huh?"

I could feel my face getting flushed. Right now, my head was in a fix. Christina was my best friend. She ain't exactly the cleanest gal, or the nicest gal out there. But she was also unpredictable, even to me.

"Christina, I didn't even see you two days ago," I insisted, getting frustrated. I noticed the small crowd of eyes, slowly gravitating towards me and her. It was like we were in some kind of drama or soap opera, they were the audience, we were the actors in the center stage and under full spotlight.

I didn't like that feeling.

She just gives me an even more crazed look. "Oh my God, you are such a liar." She lifted her hand up.

*Slap*

"What the hell was that for?" I demanded. "Christina, I just want to talk to you."

There was a glint in her eye the whole time. Her twisted expression certainly mirrored her words, but her eyes didn't. No, they said something else. "Oh really? You mean like how 'just wanted to talk to that dumb broad, back then' and ended up fuckin' her up in the bathroom!" She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest.

I'll be honest, he words stung, even if I had absolutely no idea where this was coming from. "I wasn't with a damn broad two days ago, I was with Alex."

"You cheated on me with a guy!" She screamed those words so loud that I could imagine that on the other side of town, a Soc boy would just be at a country club playing golf with his baby brother and still be able to hear here. Afterward, he'd turn to his brother and go 'You see, Calvin? I told you them greasers are a bunch of fags. But no, you didn't believe me.'

I was beyond pissed at this point. But I was more confused than pissed at this point. I then just said "Fuck it." I smacked the side of her face and then grabbed Christina by her wrist and pulled her into the bathroom.

"Let go of me," she shrieked. I pretty much threw her in before turning around to close the door. I think this was the first time I've ever really been pissed at a girl before. Christina was my best friend, and now she's goin' all ballistic on me and I don't even know why. I've never hollered or slapped a girl either.

I felt bad. I actually didn't know what to feel.

As if I wasn't so confused as it was, the next thing I know is that the lights are off, my shirt's unbuttoned and Christina's all over me.

She pulled her head back before I can process the situation. She just looked at me with a big smile. "Thanks, for that. Did I ever tell you you're a lot hotter when you're mad? Not as hot as you're brother or his friend, but still."

"Huh? What the hell's going on here, Christina?" I exploded.

She rolled her eyes. "Calm down, Dean. You don't have to be so overdramatic."

"Me? What about you?"

"You mean you haven't figure it out yet?"

"No."

She sighed. "Go look out the door."

"Fine." I opened the door very slightly.

"See the boy at the corner, near the cheap square lamp?"

"Yeah." The boy was about 5'10", he was wearing really loose clothes and was sitting by himself. He had a stone cold face but he seemed as if he felt more alone than indifferent like most greasers. Of all things, he was definitely intrigued by the whole event. But he wasn't talking to anyone.

"What about him?"

"What do you think?"

"Are you telling me that this is one of your acts just to get his attention?"

"Are you telling me you're that slow, Dean?"

"..."

"Alright, fine. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"..."

"But hey, how 'bout, I owe you one, okay? Just do this for me."

I felt my teeth grate against each other. "Fine, but how do you even know you have a chance with him? He sure don't seem like you're type."

"Maybe, but I've met boys like him before: a quiet and skinny white boy who only really approach girls when he have to or if she's sad and vulnerable and conveniently there. I've got this boy in the bag."

"Yeah, more like in the sack, given an hour or two."

"I'm not a whore, Dean."

"Are you sure about that? I think you want to check you're dictionary again."

She punched the side of my arm.

"Well shoot, you had it comin' a mile away."

"Whatever, Dean. But, you're a good man, ya' know that?"

"Don't remind me. Can't we get this over with already?"

"Okay, just give me a minute to start to cry."

* * *

><p>After going through the ordeal, I take a seat, holding my head up.<p>

"God, I need a drink," I can't help but say out loud as I reach for a bottle and practically shove it down my throat. Normally I don't like to drink ever since Steve started doing a couple years back (a drunk Steve ain't a happy Steve, to put it nicely). But with Sarah and Christina and everything, I couldn't even see myself getting to sleep that night.

"Dang, man," a kid said as he scooted next to me with a cool grin on his face. He had brownish hair, green eyes, a medium build, and a handsome grin. There was something familiar about him. "That was some show, wasn't it?" He was shaking his head.

"No kiddin'? I thought at least a dress rehersal would be in order, but I guess ad lib sometimes brings the best outta people, ya know?"

"She's a one of a kind, that girl, don't ya think?"

"You could say that again."

"Well it is Christina Mathews we're talkin' about. Ever the actress."

I take back another shot. "You think she'll ever make it big?"

"Probably not," he admitted. "But a gal can dream, can't she?" He smiled then piped up. "But she's anything like the other gals around, she'd have to able to put on a show." He hushed his last words. "And be pretty good at foreplay."

"What?"

"Nothing."

I finish up my bottle before getting ready to leave. "Well, I gotta go. But I dun think I caught you're name, bud."

"My name? Uh, just call me Ponyboy, 'kay?"

"Okay, see ya, Ponyboy."

"Later, _Dean_."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

So, no Steve here, but he'll be around in the next chapter. This one was kinda longer than I expected, but I hope you guys like it. Poor Dean.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Glass Passenger**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: To a greaser, a rep is everything. But unfortunately for him, nothing could be deeper and darker than the shadow his brother casts over him.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. The rights to the Outsiders goes to S. E. Hinton. <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter IV<strong>

* * *

><p>The night was unusually cold and I was shivering just after twenty minutes of leaving the house party. Despite that, though, I still managed to break a sweat: I could feel my armpits getting more and more soaked. I dunno how that works out, but I didn't care. I buried my hands into my pockets and tried to keep my mind busy to ignore the cold.<p>

Considering how Sarah's no where to be found, Christina certainly didn't help me in any way. I thought about Christina and how I hoped to God she got what she was looking for.

I was so confused. I felt like I was swept up by a turbulent tide, being pulled one way into another and unable to catch a breath and get back to shore. It was an all too familiar sense as my mind flashed back to the moments surrounding Mom's leaving.

After a while, an unusual sense of dread came over me as I briskly paced my way home. But it wasn't like I was afraid of being knocked out behind my back or being ganged up on. It's never happened to me before. You'll hear stories about it every once in a while, and those stories are true. Steve's had a run-in with a couple of rich folk from school a few times before. But it wasn't like those kinds of things happened everywhere you go.

What I was more afraid of was what Dad might have said when he noticed it's passed ten-o-clock. I don't know why, but I always get this feeling every time I end up coming home late at night. But every time, it's the same story.

"Dean, I hadn't noticed you weren't home yet." Or maybe something along the lines of, "It's okay, Dean. Just don't do it again."

Dad was a bit of a broken record. From his attire, to his job, to his voice. Everything about him was just predictable. I've never understood what it meant to _look_ like a name but that's just how to describe him. He was one of those kinds of people who you could just look at and say, "He _looks_ like a Michael," without even knowing anything about him.

I guess that's one way me and Dad weren't so much alike. I mean, Alex and Christina said that they hated it when I would just space out on them. They've both known for a long time that it was my way of being real pissed at you. That, or I don't really care. They get really worried when they think I'm mad at them because they say that they got no idea what I'm thinking about.

But the odd thing was, if it was Steve who came home late, Dad woulda thrown a fit. It's sometimes like they don't notice I'm there. I know they do. But it's like they don't really care.

I mean, if I got a D on a test Dad wouldn't bat an eye, but God forbid Steve ever did something like that. Dad just wouldn't have it.

My house was coming up soon. I opened door half expecting Steve and Dad throwing something at each other. If it wasn't Steve's well-placed curses, it was Dad's half-drunken slurs. It wasn't that Dad was drunk a lot. He just sounded like it when he was real pissed.

There's a difference...

I think.

I wonder how, or better yet, why Steve did it. I couldn't stand the thought of hollering off at Dad. Not that I couldn't, because I've done it a few times and it had Dad pretty shaken. But I didn't like the idea. Mom's gone now, and already feels like we're not a family anymore.

But there was nothing. No one there.

I guess that even if there were, it wouldn't have mattered either way.

I didn't feel like walking to my room. I just dropped down onto the couch like a rock, and feel asleep.


End file.
